Beauty of Wonder
by got-tigers-to-feed
Summary: We're not sure what happened. Please forgive us...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_By: Nyance-ler_

It hadn't taken but a few moments for him to discover that something was terribly wrong with him.

Upon waking, Cogsworth had barely been able to move; it seemed a miracle that he could even open his eyes, much less sitting up from where he'd been lying in bed. His arms and legs were stiff, far too stiff to move, and there was a loud ticking sound. With the way it seemed to be pounding his head, he almost assumed he had a hangover, never mind that he hadn't consumed alcohol in years.

Everything seemed fuzzy, barely letting him know that he was still in his own bed. It was still dark, so it must have been very early in that morning, earlier than he usually woke up. When he rolled out of bed was when he began to think there was something truly wrong with him.

The fall had been startling, certainly, but that the impact was barely painful at all and the noise that came out of him sounded _mechanical,_ that was what startled him. The odd feelings shoved to the back of his mind, he scrambled to his feet as best as he was able, frantically searching for an explanation of his situation. Feeling as best as he was able, he made his way to the hall, hoping at least to find a source of light. Or get to the kitchen. A cup of tea would've been nice.

As he was nearing the end of the wing, he noticed a glow approaching. At least someone else was awake. He made to call out, but the only sound that came out was a faint squeaking sound. The ticking sound following him also seemed to get louder. Before he had time to think too much into it, the source of the light rounded the corner, coming into plain view.

It was a candelabrum.

Cogsworth stumbled back in shock, again hitting the ground with the same mechanical chiming sound, as he noticed the candelabrum do almost the same. Each candle flailed about on its own, as if it were consciously trying to keep the flames from going out as it fell. Somehow, its base curved; in fact, all of it was moving as if it were alive. And as he looked closer, Cogsworth even managed to make out a face. A familiar face, even, seemingly carved into the wax.

Except it managed to actually cry out when it hit the ground.

The face and voice finally clicked for him. Opening his mouth once again, he slowly formed the name. "Lumière?" he stuttered, hoping that he hadn't gone completely insane or, if he had, that at least no one else was around to witness it.

The look of familiarity he'd felt earlier was reflected in the other's face as it (he?) hesitantly called back with, "Cogsworth?"

There was no mistaking the accent. Cogsworth let out a nervous laugh, thinking that the whole thing was obviously some sort of dream. Of course Lumière wasn't a candlestick. That was impossible, it wouldn't make sense, of course he was dreaming.

"This is ridiculous." Cogsworth was talking more to himself at that point. Getting used to talking around whatever it was that had been clogging his throat, too. As he opened his mouth to ask what his friend was doing up at this hour, or even what hour it was, the ticking sound in his head was suddenly replaced by a loud chiming.

Each chime was worse than the last, somehow, making his head feel as though it were splitting apart; the fourth chime was the last, leaving him with his eyes squeezed shut and what he was going to call his hands pressed against his forehead. His very slick, very flat forehead.

Lumière chuckled as best as he was able, almost seeming to shrug as he spoke. "It's four o' clock."

The pieces flew together for Cogsworth too quickly, seeming too obvious at that point. If his friend was somehow a candle, of course he could somehow be a clock. The whole thing still made no sense, but at least that fit.

He just hoped he didn't have to get used to that.

As Lumière shifted back to a standing position, or at least the nearest equivalent, the light from his flames spread across the walls of the hallway, even reflecting a faint glow from Cogsworth's face.

The thought struck him, then, that if he was ticking and tocking right now, if Lumière was alight, that they were both in some state of use, as objects. That, when he'd fallen earlier, Lumière had been so focused on keeping the flames burning. Nervously, he felt his way up his back as much as he could, finding what he'd been looking for. There was a twist knob, sure enough. He'd need to make sure he stayed wound.

What would happen if the clock stopped ticking, after all?

What would happen when the wax melted?


	2. Chaptuh 2

**Author's Note: **Hi, I'm OralSFX one of the four writers of this collab fic. Now that we've reached Chapter Two, I wanted to explain to you, the readers, what the purpose of protocol of this soon-to-be crackfic looks like. Or you can just skip this boring stuff and read the chapter below. As I mentioned there are four of us and we each take turns writing a chapter. The fun part is that we only get to read the previous chapter with no knowledge of how the story has gone so far before that. I'm looking forward to seeing what this turns into based on that and hope you are too^^

P.S. We update on Saturdays!

* * *

Chapter Two

_By: OralSFX_

After some minutes of panic and commotion, Cogsworth managed to assemble the castle servants for an emergency meeting. Everyone from Mrs. Potts to Broomy McSweeperson had been transformed into a living object, each of which seemed ironically linked to their respective professions.

"Now now everybody, be quiet! As head of the servile committee, it is my solemn duty to inform you that we have all been transformed into objects," said Cogsworth.

"Oh really?! Tell us something we don't know jacka-"

"Please friends, there is no reason to be tense," Lumiere chimed. "I am sure that with the right combination of teamwork, brainpower and a healthy dose of leadership from yours truly, we can solve this riddle."

Cogsworth twitched.

"Now see here Lumiere! You make excellent points but the person responsible for leading this investigation will fall on the shoulders of the HEAD of the servile committee. Namely, me."

"Of course! Of course! Old friend, I meant no intrusion on your authority. I was only... ehh, suggesting that-"

Mrs. Potts huffed. "Boys, getting to the bottom of this mystery is all well and good but aren't you forgetting something?"

"Forgetting something? Don't be ridiculous. Everyone is present and accounted for. The elite servants of..."

"THE PRINCE!" Cogsworth and Lumiere shouted in unison.

After some scrambling about, everyone grabbed a buddy and separated to begin the search.

"I don't know why I had to get stuck with you!" Cogsworth said to his candled companion as they tripped through the darkness of the west wing.

"Why must you sting me so with your words, Cogsworth? Are we not friends?"

"You know, none of this would be happening if you hadn't-"

"Shh! Did you hear that?"

Cogsworth's eyes widened as he listened. The slight crackle of a candle flame; the light ticking of a clock; a guttural breath.

Cogsworth trembled. "S-s-something's over there!"

Lumiere steadied his arms, afraid of snuffing the candle flames should he lose his nerve and topple to the floor.

"N-no need to p-p-panic Lumiere, if we just keep quiet, then perhaps-" DING! DONG! DONG! DING! A small, loud bell reverberated through Cogsworth's head alerting the castle that it was presently four o' clock.

Cogsworth's heart stopped and everything became cloudy. A roar raged through the hall toward them followed by its source, a brown blur with horns. In the next moment, the three candle flames were gone and everything was dark. An impact and the sound of gears bouncing on the floor followed a tearing sensation he felt from the inside.

_x x x_

She screamed.

"My babies!" Mrs. Potts eyes swelled with tea-stained tears at the sight of a pile of broken china. The little teacups that were her children, shattered all over the kitchen floor. "What sort of monster...?"

She climbed to the counter and sidled over to the edge. "I have nothing to live for." Before she could tip herself over into the graveyard pile of glass, something emerged from it.

"Momma?"

"Chip! You're safe!" She climbed down to tend to her only surviving teacup. He seemed fine except for a small chip on his rim which Mrs. Potts was sure would leave a mark once this horrible ordeal was all done and dealt with. "What on earth happened dear?"

"I don't know. I was sleeping and then there was a loud roar and then I saw a monster!"

"Now Chip! How many times do I have to tell you there's no such things as monsters?"

"It's true Momma!" Chip started to cry. "He...he was so angry. He knocked everyone off the tables and counters... Are my brothers and sisters gonna be alright?"

Chip hopped toward the pile. He nudged a large, feminine shard with his handle-nose.

"Annie, are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?"

Mrs. Potts looked at her son. She had always told Chip that monsters did not exist, but given the events these past couple hours she wondered if she could be sure of that. There _had_ been a commotion earlier. Could it be...?

_x x x_

A small bell chimed. Cogsworth awoke with a start. His eyes were open but he could not see a thing. Nothing but darkness. Was he dead?

"Cogsworth..." A voice whispered his name. It sounded like Lumiere. So he had died and gone to hell, had he; his eternal punishment the sound of Lumiere whispering his name? "Wake up you ruddy bag of bolts!"

"Ah!" Cogsworth bolted upright as he awoke a second time slamming his head into Lumiere's.

"Ow! What was that for?" Lumiere cradled his head in his arms.

Cogsworths eyes darted about. The torches on the wall lit the wing and showed him the mangled suits of armor, shredded curtains and chunks of stone that had been torn from the pillars.

"What happened?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_By: spookystingray_

Suddenly Cogsworth's vision was flooded with white light. He awoke in a cold sweat, naked (and human) on the bed he shared with Lumiere, his eyes aching. Lumiere's side of the bed seemed to be empty; Cogsworth could hear water pelting the floor of the shower, and wisps of steam escaped under the bathroom door. The digital clock on their nightstand read 5:30 a.m.

Cogsworth uncovered himself and lifted his somewhat plump body out of the bed; as he yawned and stretched, he suddenly doubled over, barely managing to hold back puke. Hand over his mouth, he burst into the bathroom, the captive steam escaping as he bent over and emptied his stomach into the toilet. Panting, he could hear the shower curtains shifting, and he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. Lumiere, dripping, looked down upon his lover and chuckled.

"Paying tribute to the porcelain god, my handsome man?"

"Nightmares about the old times always make me nauseous," Cogsworth sighed, "Could I join you? I'm rather… a bit of a mess."

"Unfortunately my love, I need to get to work early this morning," Lumiere hesitated awkwardly, scratching his nose, "Very early. You understand."

"Yes, yes, get to it then."

_x x x_

Lumiere sat in his office, thinking. It was quiet; he was the only one in this early. He was avoiding Cogsworth, and had been avoiding him for the past few days. He didn't know how to break the news to him: Prince Adam was dead. Lumiere stroked his temples, sighing discontentedly, thinking of the past.

After Prince Adam had been freed from his beastly form and the servants had become human again, they found that they no longer aged. This was wondrous at first, but as the years went on, life in the castle seemed meaningless and small – _life_ seemed meaningless and small. Prince Adam left with an aging Belle to travel the world. After some years, Lumiere heard news of Belle's death, and as the decades passed he followed the many causes the prince devoted himself to: politics, business, academia. Sometime in the 1980's, Lumiere lost track of him; he seemed to have disappeared. The news of the prince's suicide was the first Lumiere had heard of him in nearly three decades. He had hanged himself in the castle, now a museum. The only mention of his death was in a local newspaper. Mrs. Potts, who still lived in that town, had written to tell Lumiere the news.

Lumiere felt lucky to have Cogsworth; without him, he would surely have succumbed to the emptiness of immortality just as the prince had.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_by busterkuri_

Chip's initial joy in being an eternal child was short-lived. At first, he was excited to forever be a kid. Years later, he had become spiteful and cruel. As Mrs. Potts drank herself into a stupor, she was constantly shaken by slammed doors.

"Chip, please, be calm."

"Screw you, mom." He snatched the vodka from her hands and chugged it. Mrs. Potts sighed. The eternal age she could deal with. Being the GMILF for life she liked. But then there were the days when Chip had enough, when he tried to commit suicide. And when they realized that eternal life meant that death was impossible, they both began to snap a little. But sometimes she seemed like the days were recent…like there was something missing…

What had happened 20 years ago? 5 years ago? Last week? There was something wrong. And as she thought about it, she finally realized…

She woke up back in the cupboard. The terrible dream again. Thank God. Well, whatever God there was. She was a good Christian once. And then she woke up as a freaking teapot. It's honestly hard to believe there's a loving God when your friends are household objects, your past lovers have become silverware. She tried once to read up on alternate religions outside of the Judeo-Christian theology she was familiar with.

Then she remembered she had no hands and turning pages was a pain in the ass. A freaking teapot.

She decided she wasn't going to get to sleep anytime soon. You can't sleep angry. She decided to sidle out of the cupboard, being careful not to wake any of the other dishes. How many servants were there, anyways? She had tried counting once. Back when they were rehearsing musical numbers and assuming there would still be visitors, still be someone who would come and wonder what had happened to their friend who used to live in that one castle with that asshole prince. But no. Nothing. They got a door-to-door salesman from time to time. How they got out to the castle, nobody knew. You can only get lost so far. Some of the servants had jumped ship this way. There would be a knock at the door, a little bit of conversation, and then a few hours later somebody would notice that a spoon was missing. "There went Frank." A nod of the head, and they went on with life.

She was out of the cupboard now, and under the sink. "Pssst, Saink."

"Hm? Oh, Potts. How are you tonight?"

"Restless. I just need some of the usual."

"Of course, madam."

The hot water poured down and she started moaning. She had stuffed the turkey (happy Thanksgiving to my homies) quite a few times when she was human. Well, if by quite a few times you mean every night. Being turned into a normally inanimate object made getting any sex difficult. But she quickly discovered something: she liked making tea. A lot.

"Potts, you're overflowing."

"Don't stop. Don't stop now." Her moans were getting louder. One of the drawers opened as a few spoons peeked out. She didn't know their names. But she needed them. "You. On the left. Get me a teabag." He (or was it she? Gender is difficult with the silver) jumped out of the drawer as the other spoons lowered themselves, disappointed. But they would pop up again. She knew the spoons.

She went over to the stove. Half the kitchen was awake at this point. Half of that half (that's a quarter) was pretending to be asleep. The other half was doing whatever got them off. She looked around at it. If they were human, this might have turned her on. Instead, she got nothing from spoons rubbing against each other or napkins folding and unfolding themselves.

She almost wished she was back in the dream. There she could find a man who would appreciate her. An overweight, older English lady? Oh sure, it's not mainstream, but what is mainstream? She had found plenty of men in her time. Maybe tastes would've changed in a couple centuries, but what's that to sex?

Her mind started drifting, thinking of all the things she wanted done to her. Not as a teapot, but as a human. The lit stove under her and the water boiling inside her started to become too much as she whistled. She could hear the moans of the objects that could still talk. Many thought this was the orgasm for her. But that wasn't it.

The spoon came over and put the teabag inside her. "Ooooh, English breakfast…" This was when the orgasms started. Continuously The spoon started stirring her. "Add honey. Please, add honey." It went and got a big dollop and slowly dripped it inside her. It was too much. She screamed. She didn't care if she woke up the whole kitchen, she had to express her pleasure.

Afterwards, there was little to do but pour it down the sink and wash herself off. She would give it to the teacups if they were older, but they weren't. She thought back to Chip, in the dream. For him, she would do something special. Just not tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_By Nyance-ler_

He'd really been at the end of his rope, was all. It wasn't as though he often felt the need to wander on a strange journey through the snow, hopping over fallen trees only to realize that the snow-covered path he was walking wasn't even manmade at that point.

Sales for him had been low, was all. Trying to make a living as a door-to-door salesman? It was hard enough in our conception of things, but without even the invention of Amway? No one even knew what he was or how he was attempting to pull it off. Hell, even he himself had no idea how he found himself in this particular temporal position, nevermind his acquisition of a suit made in the style fitting of a trend in a place he'd never heard of, some United States, in a time far further down the linear path than where he was.

Either way, though, he needed to make sure that these fine people were aware that if they bought right. fucking. now. that he would throw in a set of steak knives.

Of course, by "these fine people," he did mean our protagonists. Whoever the fuck they even are at this point; I honestly have no idea, which is why this chapter is told from the perspective of a completely unimportant secondary character.

Secondary, he questions. Yes, I say, secondary. So secondary that even your breeching of the fourth wall means nothing of consequence for the events of the story as a whole. Ridiculous, he says. A character having the ability to break the fourth wall has deep implications. Not true, I reply. In fact, I go on, that it would under any other circumstances have a deep meaning really does drive home how unimportant you are. Being in tune with the narrative certainly decreases your importance to the story as a whole. I was even going to name you, but then you insisted on being part of the forefront, so I'm not going to name you.

Bollocks, he replies, though this was also naturally inaudible as it was, as the rest of that paragraph and some bit before it, simply a part of the narrative.

Having been lost along that train of thought for some time, it was something of a shock when he found himself standing in front of the large, wooden doors to a very antiquated castle.

Well, he thought, at least they're probably rich. Rich people could always use more steak knives.

He knocked on the door, waiting tentatively for a response. When one came, he was elated; few people even bothered to open the doors.

But there was no one on the other side. Or, at least, that's what he'd thought at first. A rough coughing sound, someone clearing their throat, met his ears and he looked down to find its source. It was a feather duster.

…It was a feather duster?

That was definitely a feather duster.

"Excuse me…uh, my good…um. If you buy something from me, I'll throw in some steak knives," he managed to stutter, opening only slightly the briefcase he'd been carrying with him. What was he doing, he wondered. Selling to a feather duster? The sane part of his mind kept telling him that it was fine. Surely this was simply a very short person, not actually a feather duster, and the cold had finally started shaving off brain cells, not that he knew what those were.

It was in that moment, the second that the man at the door whose name shall never be mentioned and never even existed in the first place had opened his briefcase, that Frank knew.

This was his time. This was his life. This was his destiny.

Hopping quickly along the floor, as much as a fork was able at least, he managed to slip himself into the briefcase.

Freedom, at last. Even if he was destined to someday become a part of a set of kitchenware. It was better than all the rehearsing for musicals they never managed to put on.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_The End_

**AUTHORS' NOTES:**

****_OralSFX:_ So it has been a full cycle round and no one has been able to step up to write chapter six. Somewhere along the line, this fanfic became more horrible than we could have possibly imagined. Thus this fanfic is now dead. But stick around for another exciting project where we will be doing basically the same thing to something else. See you then^^

_Nyanc-ler:_

_SpookyStingray:_

_BusterKuri:  
_


End file.
